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That’s not even getting into the rampant uptick of crime from low-level criminals and street gangs.
There’s only so many hours in the day, which means we’ve passed largely unchecked and under the radar over the past year.
It’s worked out in my favor—as the new Don of the Mancino family, I’ve had my own hands full. I’ve had to work to establish myself as the dominant figure, the new guy in charge among a sea of men. Many of whom doubted my ability to fill Lucius’s shoes. Others who technically were under him in our war against each other.
His main loyalists have been murdered or otherwise handled. But I couldn’t turn away everybody in the family… we’d have almost no soldiers if I had. My crew when I broke off from Lucius wasn’t large enough, and I’d since lost half of them during our war.
Realistically, I needed the manpower. I needed the numbers. If the Mancino organization was to stay on top, heading the Five Families, then we needed to remain the large, dominant force we’d been for decades.
So, over the past year, it’s been a challenge instilling loyalty in my ranks. Ensuring trustworthiness and unity.
The last thing I need to deal with are bitchfits and spats between the likes of Kozlov and Giancola.
“You handled them well,” Stitches says as he locks up the private room we used for our meeting. He spins the ring of keys on his forefinger and continues thinking aloud. “It will be interesting to see how this distributor’s new product will increase sales.”
“It’s supposed to be better than the stuff the club goers are addicted to.”
“Cherry,” he supplies. “Remember that chick I met a few weeks ago? She’s hooked on the stuff.”
I shake my head, though I’m unsurprised. “You sure know how to pick them.”
“Not everybody can catch a dime like Mrs. Phi. I heard you two, by the way. You really need to soundproof the loft walls.”
“Careful,” I warn, holding up a finger. “You’re this close to a boot up your ass, Francis. How many times do I have to tell you, you hear us, you cover your ears.”
He laughs. “I do! I guess I need soundproof headphones next. Especially since Valentine’s Day is right around the corner.”
We make our way through the club, though I’m half distracted. First by fond thoughts of the morning Delphine and I had together. Then by thoughts of what Stitches said—Valentine’s Dayisonly a couple days away.
It’ll be our first since we married. I’m the furthest thing from sentimental, but that feels like it should be a big deal, like I should do something extra special for Delphine. I make a mental note of it walking onto the street outside.
We’re headed out for lunch after what’s been a long morning. Stitches makes it to our car first. I’m footsteps away before I notice what’s about to happen—the car that’s broken off from traffic and comes barreling toward us.
It doesn’t matter that we’re on the sidewalk. He’s gunning for us, the beat up sedan cutting off other cars on the street, and climbing over the cement sidewalk.
“Shit!” Stitches yells. He withdraws his M9 in time to shoot at the windshield and then jumps out of the way.
I’ve just dived myself.
The car misses me by only a couple feet. It keeps going ’til it smashes through the front of the local dry cleaners.
More chaos follows from the shattering glass to screams and the blare of the car’s horn.
Stitches landed a shot in his head. The guy in the front’s slumped over and face planted into the steering wheel.
We’re the first to run over as a small crowd gathers.
“Who the hell was this?” Stitches asks.
I reach into the open driver side window and yank the guy into an upright position. He’s dead, alright—the bullet is lodged into his skull with blood trickling out. His face is unfamiliar. The face of a nobody.
My gut tells me this was no accident.
“Somebody hired him,” I say, my eyes narrowing. “But who?”
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